Friday, October 31, 2008

See this old, hard patio chair? It has been my computer chair for the last year and a half. It was free. Don't be jealous.

The other day my dad gave me a gift. Just for the heck of it. Oh yeah, and because it was on sale.

So now I sit at the 'puter in this:

(Don't
mind the white finger prints on the chair. I decided to let the kids go
for a spin before they were forever banished from the chair, and
neglected to notice they had cream cheese still on their hands! I have
zero excuse for the dirty floor... so just look at the chair, alrighty?
Thanks...)

Talk about an upgrade!!

I don't think dad realised when he gave me this that I will be spending more time neglecting the kids
on the computer now. I don't have to get up as often to stretch, or to
shake the pins and needles out of my ass. (I never realised where the body was capable of getting pins and needles before I had the patio chair!)

Thanks dad! Oh. And while we're at it, I could use a new bed. And a dishwasher. Oh, and maybe a new car? Just sayin...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tonight
I have the honours of escorting a ninja and a princess all over the
planet. Mackenzie is so excited. This is her first year of
trick-or-treating, and she drools every time I mention the idea of
people giving her candy "just because". Braden has convinced himself he
gets all of his candy plus half of Mackenzie's. HA! He might be a ninja and all, but I have no qualms about taking him on for my fair share!

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

On Saturday, Aaron and I took the kids to the grand opening of a local recreational facility. Everything was free.
Hot dogs, pizza, fresh fruit, bottled water, ice skating, swimming,
cotton candy, cake, etc. The list goes on and on. Free. Everything.

When we arrived, they had a little set up with hay bales and scarecrows. Which translates to "photo op!!" The kids happily obliged to take a seat and grin for the camera. I focused in and pushed the button.

"beep. beep. beep"

My
batteries. CRAP! Knowing that the camera sucks the batteries even drier
with the display window on, I turned it off and looked through the view
finder. I took two pictures "just in case". The kids sat still the
entire time, and looked right at the camera while I snapped away.
Hoorah! Victory! I have decent pics of cooperating children! Wahoo!!

Wait. What's this?

Here's the first:It had the potential to be "alright", but considering it's blurry...arg!!

And the second:You can tell in this one that Mackenzie was "trying" to hold her smile and attention, whereas Braden just plumb gave up.

Dorks.

Would it have killed them to actually look at the camera? Whatever. They were sitting still, had their hands to themselves and everything was free!

Monday, October 27, 2008

She
succeeds at convincing Grandma and strangers that she is a sweet,
innocent little princess. Mackenzie aka - "Da da da DA, Princess
Kenzia!!" Loves all things Barbie, Care Bears, Tinkerbell and the
works. When she wears dresses she holds them at the hem line, lifts the
dress up a bit and twirls around for all those worthy to admire her.

She can't fool me. And I have the proof. See this picture? Oh yeah. Everything princess like is void from this scene.

(I think if you click on the picture, it might show up a bit bigger)

1 - Braden got that for a gift when he turned one. It still has the original batteries in it 6 years later. And they work.
Mackenzie discovered this truck in August. Almost exactly 6 years to
the day that Braden got it. By the end of August,she decimated it. She
managed to rip the steering wheel and front wheels off. Now she scoots
around on it "steering" herself with her legs. "But Mom-mmm-mmy. I'm just making it better for me. Right Mommy?"

2
- No "princess" would allow herself to go outside with sandals on the
wrong feet. Except Mackenzie when she's trying to convince you that
Princesses don't mind. "Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. Right
Mommy?" Erm.. Sure sweety.

3 - This injury occurred when the
"Princess" was chasing after a 4 year old little boy at daycare, so she
could smack him with a Barbie doll. Apparently he told her that she was
too little to blow bubbles the "right" way. "I was blowing the bubbles like a princess do, and then he made me really mad. Right Mommy?"

4
- Stickers on the bandages - The ultimate healing power. She asked if
she could use my "Mommy stickers cuz they's weally big stickies. Right
Mommy?""Mommy stickers" being my maxi pads. Ahem.

5 - A
classic Kenzie face. As I was taking this picture, Braden was behind me
saying something to Mackenzie. I don't recall what he was saying, but
her response was "the" look, followed by a low growl of "Nooooo
'Baden'. NO. He's bothering me. Right Mommy?"

To avoid being on
the receiving end of "the" look, I will have to abide by the Princess.
I shall call her "Princess Tomboy". RIGHT Mackenzie?????

On Saturday my boyfriend and I were sharing a cuddle on the couch. We were having a nice little chat about our daughter's constipation and potty training efforts
the meaning of life, when he looked thoughtfully into my eyes for a
moment. As he was gazing oh so immensely, I realized he was touching my
chin so very lightly. Awe, I thought to myself. He can be romantic. Then it tickled for a second.

So I touched my chin where he touched and felt a 10 foot long 2cm long hair. Coming out of my chin.

"Aaron!! Were you... Are you... What the hell man? Why were..? ARG! You do NOT play with your girlfriend's chin hair! EVER!!"

He had a combined look of confusion and amusement plastered on his face.

"What?" he said, as he shrugged his shoulders. "So what? It's not like I was trying to braid it."

Braid
it?? WTF? How long IS this sucker?? I stared at him with admonishment,
and my hand cupping my chin. Is he really that effing clueless?

I
gave him "the" look, and went to the bathroom to see how noticeable it
really was. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!! I'm turning into a fricken chia pet!!
"Cha cha cha chia!! Cha cha cha CHIA!" The jingle played in my head
over and over. I had SEVEN stray hairs on my chin. Looong hairs. I shit
you not, the longest one was 2.5 cm long. (1 inch) I grabbed it with my
fingernails and yanked. Did I get it? I don't see it... wait. What's
that? I leaned in closer. I managed to grab the hair between my nails
and curled it. It friggin CURLED on me.

Eff that crap. Since I
don't own tweezers (yes I shave my uni-brow because I am a giant wuss)
I grabbed my razor and shaved those little SOB's off!

And 6
days later my chin is STILL itchy. And bumpy. Apparently it's not a
good idea to dry shave. Anywhere. Including your chin. Regardless of
who sees it. And plays with it. And how much time you have.

Well, off to Wal-Mart. I have to buy some tweezers and anti itching cream supplies.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

"How can you tell there was an elephant in the refrigerator?" "Because there were footprints in the butter"

Have you? Well, I have a new one for you:

"How can you tell the seven year old boy was mucking in the cupboards?" "Because there's a finger streak in the icing."

That little SHITHEAD.

As
I posted yesterday, I have been on this baking/cleaning binge lately.
Last night I grabbed the last container of icing out of the cupboard to
frost the cake. (Hey. Don't judge. I said yesterday I was fairly new to
this baking thing, so you can't expect me to be making homemade icing
yet!!) I took off the lid and grabbed the "protective seal" to peel it
away. What's this? Hmmm. That came off pretty easy. Too easy. I glance
at the icing. A perfect little finger streak from the middle to the
edge of the rim. Not deep. Just a surface test I suppose. I even had to
stop and think, "Now when did I do this?" But I *know* I didn't. There
is no way Mackenzie could ever have gotten up on the counter, let alone
stop at one little taste test.

What gets me the most, is the little shit smoothed out the foil and bent it back down to make it look like it was never tampered with.

What a bloody genius.

Just too bad he didn't stick it in the fridge after. It has a gazillion year shelf life, but 2 weeks open in the fridge. I have no clue how long ago this happened, and was not going to take any chances. I had to throw it away.

Monday, October 20, 2008

When I was pregnant with my son, I went through the entire pregnancy
without going through the "nesting" stage. Well, just barely. When I
was 6 months pregnant with him, I went through a 3 day cleaning binge,
cleaning and clearing the house out top to bottom.

But
I didn't really count that as nesting per say, as it was May, the
official "Spring Cleaning" month. Everyone in our town house complex
was doing it.

When I was preggers with Kenzie, my "nesting"
stage began on November 15th, around 5pm. I was 35 weeks, 4 day along.
I gave birth to her almost 27 hours later.

I wonder now if I was
nesting because my body "knew" she was coming, or if rearranging the
living room (by myself...oops) pushed me into active labour.

The past few days I have been doing what I can only consider to be as nesting.

Wait.

No, I am NOT pregnant. Not even as in "I may be pregnant and am in denial type of pregnant". Just plain old NOT. PREGNANT.

So why am I finding the sudden urge to bake? I am NO Suzy homemaker. I just don't bake. The past week I have baked 2 cakes,
2 loaves of pumpkin loaf and 3 loaves of banana bread. Not to mention I
have de-cluttered significantly, to the point where I have bribed my
garbage man to take extra bags of trash (beyond the allowed 2 bags per
household rule) with the offerings of said banana bread and a flash of
my boobs. OK, so I'm kidding about the last part. I want him to take the garbage, not send him running in holy terror at the sight of my sagging bags of flesh.

I digress...

I
have even set up a date where my dad is going to come with his truck
and take a load to the dump. I am very excited about this. Once the
junk gets out, I can arrange the bedrooms again to suit 3 people, not 6.

I
am at a loss. The only thing I can think of is my mind has finally
accepted the fact that my nephews have gone back with their mom, and I
can move on from that chapter in my life. Seriously. That is the only
feasible explanation to this craziness.

So that makes me wonder.
If we "nest" when we are expecting a new arrival, am I "un-nesting"
because the boys aren't living here anymore? Is that possible??

That
is all for now. I hear my sink calling. It's ready for it's nightly
shine, and I think I hear some dust trying to settle on the coffee
table...

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Braden is off having some much needed bonding time with his grandpa, my
dad. It's been quite a while since Braden has had a sleepover with his
"Papa". He was very excited to go.

Usually,
we get home around 3:30pm, have a snack and the kids go play until
dinner time. Because Braden was off with my dad after school yesterday,
it was just Kenzie and I. It's amazing how kids adapt to routine, and
abide by it. As I was in the kitchen humming and hawing over what to
make for dinner, I heard Mackenzie yelling at her brother. She was
pissed. "NO 'BADEEEEEEN!' I. SAID. NOOOOOO!!" She was freaking out. I
called out "Mackenzie! Don't talk to your brother like that! Braden!
Leave your sister alone!" Silence. Then quiet chatter.

Wait.

Didn't I say that Braden wasn't here?

Yes
I did. I walked to the bedroom not knowing what to think. I slowly
pushed open the door to find Mackenzie holding Charla, our cat. Who
looked terrified. "Um. Mackenzie?" I said gently. "What?" She
responded. "Honey, were you just, um, yelling at your, uh, brother?"

Mackenzie
grinned ear to ear. "Yes! 'Baden' at Papa's house, right Mommy? So I
say Charla is the 'Baden' and Charla bit my finger so I yell "NOOOOO
'BADEEEEEEN', right Mommy?"

Ooookay...

I return to the kitchen, get my groove on and start dinner. Mackenzie is playing quietly so I snuck away to the computer to get my daily fix of blog reading check my email.

So I'm in "the zone". Apparently I was in the zone for quite a while before mommy instinct kicks in.

Slowly I come out of my computer induced trance. "Mackenzie? Whatcha doing baby girl?" I ask as I begin to get up.

"Washing my feet."

Washing her feet? Wha..???

Now,
I know I can get pretty lost once on the computer, but I know there is
no way I would not hear the bathtub running. I don't think I'm going to
like what I see, I think to myself.

I walked into the bathroom
to see my precious little princess sitting on the toilet. With her feet
in it. Up to her knees. Not only were her lower extremities in the ole
porcelain bowl, but a bar of homemade jasmine soap my mother brought
back from a recent trip to Indonesia for me was in it too. Half of it
was still covered in plastic.

I was immediately split into 3
different people. Now I understand that long hesitation people have in
strange or unexpected situations. Your body is fighting among it's self
as to which personality will take over.

Southern-lady-mommy-personality
said, "Oh dear Lord child! Your feet are in the stinky yucky toilet!
Ew! we poop in there! Germs germs yucky evil germs!! Now we have to
scrub you with a wire brush and throw the soap away!"

Boot-camp-drill-Sargent-mommy-personality
said, " MACKENZIE!! What are you DOING? We do NOT wash ANYTHING in the
toilet! EVER! YUCK! Now I have to throw away the soap that GRANDMA GAVE
ME!! AND I have to give you a bath NOW instead of AFTER dinner.
SIghhhhhhhh."

I'm
so glad that personality No 3 won. That was one of the funniest things
ever. If I knew where my dang camera was, I would have taken pictures!
It was priceless. No Mackenzie. Your feet do not smell like roses. That
is called Jasmine.

Friday, October 17, 2008

It took me forever to fill out the answers. I thought I'd have it done
in 5 minutes. Silly me. Surprisingly it was harder than I thought.

Copy and paste. Fill out your own answers (duh) and voila! Some of the questions sure make you think!

I would never: tell my children I wish I never had them

I always: Kiss, hug, and tell them I love them at bedtime. Even if they've been little shits All. Day. Long.

I got an easy ride when it came to: Temper tantrums. I have been able to distract/ talk through/avoid tantrums about 98% of the time.

The part I dislike most about parenting is:
Having them start EVERY SINGLE FLIPPING SENTENCE WITH "Mommy" I'm
LISTENING, and have been listening for the last 10 minutes. No need to
"renew" my attention! I'm SO changing my name, and not telling them
what I changed it too!!

The part I love most about parenting is:
Watching them achieve new milestones, and knowing that they love me no
matter what. Even when I've been a grumpy bear, smell like the ass end
of road kill, and made them eat their veggies. They still want cuddles
and hugs and kisses. :)

My terrible parenting secret is: We eat in front of the TV. A lot.

I would describe my approach to discipline as: Too strict/uptight

My worst parenting habit: I yell.

The one thing I am really proud of is: My kids say please and thank you most of the time. Without being prompted.

I probably am too lenient when it comes to: Easing off on discipline. (ie - make a 3 day grounding into 2 days)

I hope my kids inherit my: Imagination and to be able to find a positive in ANY situation

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Okay. I've been blogging now for about
5 months, the last 2 months regularly. It's time to try something new,
so I'm going to do the "Thursday Thirteen". I hope to be consistent
with it. (It's harder than it looks!!) Here goes...

Thirteen Things about YOUR NAME

1. Lana

2. Old people say it's a beautiful name

3. Kids tormented me

4. "Lana banana" is a fantastic rhyme. That made me want to murder at the age of 8.

5. They liked calling me "Lana the Llama" while bleating like a lamb.

6. Unintentionally, my parents named both my sister and I after sex goddesses of the 60's. (Lana Turner and Gina
Lollobrigida)

7. Read my name backwards. Yeeeaaaah... I discovered that one when I was 11, Thought my parents must have hated me.

8. 60% of the time people call me "Launa". Nope. It's Lana. LA-nah.

9.
25% of the time, people call me "Alana". I will correct this once. If
it continues, I will call them Adave. or, Ashannon, or asteve, or
abetty.

10. In Spanish and Latin, my name literally translates to "wool" or "fleece".

11. I (briefly) considered naming my daughter "Lanaya" (La-NAY-ah) just so I could have my name in hers.

12. I'm still a bit bitter about point number 7. Although, once I point that out, I'm never called "Alana" again. Go figure.

13.
After attending a total of 5 schools (4 elementary, 1 high school), it
wasn't until grade 9 that I met another "Lana". (To all you
"Jennifer's, Amanda's and Nicole's, please don't hate me!!)

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

I'm playing hooky from work today. I feel so disgusting. I slept like
crap, woke up every half hour and feel like I have to barf.

Lovely.

As
miserable and uncomfortable I would be at work today, I still feel
guilty calling in. I always feel guilty about calling in. I hate that!
So many people take advantage of a "sick day" and don't think twice
about it. And then there's me. I think I'll get in trouble or
something. Today I don't care...yet.

So I'm off to get the kids
ready and distribute them to school and daycare. See? I'm REALLY taking
the day off. Thank goodness for daycare.

I'm going to go die now, but hopefully I'll be resurrected in time to pick the kids up this afternoon.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

In
December, I received a message from an old friend asking if I would be
interested in taking his cat. He is a single dad who has been raising
his 3 year old daughter since she was 6 months old. He had to move to a
bigger place, but he was not able to take his cat, as the people who
lived upstairs (he was moving into a basement suite) has a little boy
who had horrible asthma, plus a terrible allergy to cats. It broke his
heart as "Charlotte" was literally born on his lap 2 and a half years
previous.

I agreed to take her. But I had to rename her. In my
opinion (my opinion, my personal preference only!!) I think it's kind
of weird to name animals "people" names. I wanted to try to keep it
close to "Charlotte", so I decided on renaming her "Charla". Had I
thought about it a bit, I should really have waited until she showed me
more of her personality. (which was hard, considering for the first 3
weeks of being here, she lived in my walls. Don't ask.)Had I waited, I would have named her something like "Tripper", or "killer Dust Bunny".

Charla
is the sweetest cat ever. She is quiet unless looking for me. At night
time when the kids are in bed, and I'm at the computer, she'll sink out
of my room softly mewing. She'll meow until I say "I'm right here
baby." Then she's quiet again. She isn't one of those "In your face"
kind of cats either. She'll come over, hop in my lap to enjoy a good
petting, and jump down when she has had enough. She's just in general
the perfect cat match for me.

Well, other than the fact she's trying to kill me.

At
first I thought it was adorable how when I got up to go to the
kitchen/bed/bathroom/answer the phone, she would jump up from her
seemingly unconscious state of slumber to walk with me to where I was
going. The faster I walk, the faster she walks. I slow down, so does
she. Cute, right? WRONG!!! It's all fine and dandy 'till she drops to
the ground right in front of me rolling
around looking all cute, "asking" for attention. I am talking RIGHT AT
MY FEET, in mid stride. walk walk walk walk DROP.

The first
182 times this happened, I would say her name, almost like a warning of
"EGAD!! MOVE before I step on you!" I dodged her so many times. She
almost made me drop Mackenzie once. I was taking Kenzie out of the bath
and bringing her to the living room. Charla, one step ahead of me,
WHAMO! Drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I stumbled and ended
up kicking her with one foot and stepping on her tail with the other. I
will never forget the sound she made. At the time I thought it was a
sound she made when hurt. I'm pretty certain I was wrong. Now I know
she was pissed at herself that her attempts to kill me were foiled. She
probably thought she would get double points because I was carrying
precious cargo.

I've since learned that as she's trying to pull
off her murder scheme, to hiss and say "phfffft" quite loudly. It makes
her nervous and pushes her furry little ass a bit quicker to get out of
my way.

But silly me. She's been watching and learning. Now she
knows while I am busy in the mornings getting ready for work, getting
Braden ready for school, and Mackenzie ready for daycare, that I am
distracted. The other day we were ready to head out the door. As I was
heading down the stairs to leave, the little fur ball stopped on the
stair. I didn't see her, and stepped on her just enough to register
what it was and proceeded to slide down 5 stairs on my keester while
hanging on to the banister. I believe I sounded like this - "what
th..CHARLAAAAEIYAAHAHHOOOOOOYOUCH!!" mix in with that about 5 good
sounding *THUD*s. Oh yeah. And Braden and Mackenzie's screams of
"MOMMY! You broke the cat! Why did you step on poor Charla? Aweee poor
Charla". They crooned. WHAT ABOUT ME?!?! It was pointless to tell a 7
and 2 yr old that I could have actually stepped on her harder to save my arse, but nooo.

Then Charla looked me dead in the eyes and said with a menaced tone, "Next time lady. Just you watch. Oh yes. Next. Time."

The doctors said I must have banged my head in the process, but I know what I heard. Oh yes. I do.

Monday, October 13, 2008

...Well, to my Canadian friends anyways! I had my turkey dinner on
Saturday, then ate turkey for lunch and dinner again yesterday. I'm
glad Thanksgiving is in October. If it were the same as in the States,
I don't know if I could appreciate turkey again at Christmas as much!

Off
to work today. Don't want to go, but at least I'll be getting time and
a half. I wonder how many customers will be ordering turkey for lunch
today.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Today we are heading over to my mom's house for dinner. Thanksgiving
dinner. Mmm. Turkey and all the trimmings. Thanksgiving is actually on
Monday, but today is the only day mom has off of work this week. Works
great for me!

Up
until about 5 years ago, Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Boxing Day,
and News Years day, the entire family got together to eat, visit, and
celebrate. As our family gets older, cousins get married and have
families of their own, and "share" these holidays with their in-laws.
My mom and her sisters (who are the one's who take turns hosting these
family get togethers) have decided to not to have "big" celebrations
anymore. Now it's more imediate family dinners. With the exception of
Christmas.

I find it sad. I wish I a bigger place. Even though
it would be a lot of work, it would be worth it to have the entire
family together for a few hours.

So, I have decided that once
I have a bit more money rolling in, I'm going to start having a family
dinner every second Saturday. I'll deligate to certain family members
what they can bring for a meal contribution. (would it be wrong to ask
for a monitary donation?? I kid!! I kid!!) It will only be my mom, dad,
sister and her 7 giblets, myself and my tribe. If it works out, then
maybe I'll invite a few more every once in a while.

I think
it's important for my kids to have that. I grew up having a SUnday
dinner with the entire family at my grandma's every week. Then she
moved to a much smaller place, and those Sundays became obsolete.

Wish me luck! I think I'll start that in about 3 weeks. I'll let you know how things went!

Friday, October 10, 2008

I've always had an over active imagination. Going swimming in a lake as
a child had me fearing for my life almost every time, as I swam back to
shore. I was pretty sure a shark was going to get me. But only if I had
my back to the rest of the lake. I wouldn't let up on my fear until I
made it to shore, got out of the water and turned around to look at the
lake. Then all was well again.

I
can go down a flight of stairs just fine. But to this very day, I have
to *RUN!!* upstairs if I am alone. I hold my breath and bolt it. The
very nano second I reach the top, I have to turn around to make sure
there is no creepy ghost/zombie/monster thing chasing me, or reaching
for me with bloody, elongated arms. Yes. Even in my own house. Yes, I
said to this very day.

As a child I rarely had nightmares. My
nightmares occurred while I was just dozing off, but still awake. I
thought for sure hands resided under my bed. I had to be in the very
center of my bed, and have nothing but my face sticking out of the
blanket. I was positive if I left one mm of skin exposed, these hands
would come up from all sides of the bed and get me.

I have
been very blessed. Nothing traumatic ever happened to me, other than an
occasional spanking for telling a whopper of a lie. I have no clue
where these silly fears arise from.

Except one.

When I
was either 8 or 9 years old, my dad let me stay up and watch the movie
"The Silver Bullet". Oh. My. God. It's a werewolf movie, and gave me
nightmares on and off until I was about 18 years old. I hate hate HATE
being outside in the dark. Alone. Even at almost 30. Because I know a
werewolf will get me. I know it.

Growing
up, my parents would take my sister and I to Manitoba every summer and
almost every other Christmas. From BC to Manitoba, it was usually a 3
day, 2 night trip. (Depending on how heavy dad's foot was). We learned
fairly young to not depend on dad stopping at rest stops or gas
stations. We just held it as long as we could, and 3 seconds before we
would burst, dad would pull over and let us do our thing in the bushes.
I hated it. No one would come with me, or stay with me. mom was busy
doing her thing while rushing us back to the car. My sister is 7 years
older than me, not to mention quite the prude. So at 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 etc
years of age, I would sloowly check my surroundings for
bears, man eating plants and rabid squirrels. The only thing edging me
on was my full bladder promising to explode on me should I not go pee
now!

After being yelled at to hurry up a few times, I'd finally
hunker down and do my business. All the while knowing something was
going to bite my butt. When I was done, I'd run like I have never ran
before straight to the car, with I'm sure a combined look of relief and
terror on my face. Strangely, questions were never asked.

I
still have to look down an out house toilet before I do my thing, just
in case... You know, just in case any of those wild BC crocodiles are
out and about, waiting to prey on me bum.

Flash forward to this past July.

Every
summer in Vancouver we have "The Celebration of Lights". It's wicked
fireworks played in time with coordinated music. Different countries
compete for the best show, and there's a huge finale at the end of the
summer. Aaron (my boyfriend), my sister, and myself went. (No kids
WOOHOO!!) The end came and it was time to go. We had quite a walk to
get back to the sky train, and I had to pee so bad. I couldn't take it
anymore. I let Aaron and my sister convince me to pee between 2 garbage
dumpsters. They stood in front of me, with their backs to me of course,
and all was well. I was in my glory. Ahh! The sweet relief! Sigh.
Almost done. Wait. What was that? A strange sound emoted from my mouth
"aieyAYAYAIEIAAAYYHHHHH!!!!! SOMETHING TOUCHED MY ASS!!! GAK! EGAD!" At
this point, my sister and boyfriend still refused to turn around. The
bastards were laughing at me. They were clueless that my worst
nightmare was coming true, and some goblin was trying to eat me.

Keep
in mind I'm squatting between 2 dumpsters in a back alley in Vancouver,
with my ass hanging out and a river of pee coming out. (niiice, I know,
eh?) Something touches my ass again. I swear to God I'm thinking a
homeless person was trying to cop a feel. I try scooting forward just a
smidgen, but think soundly that I'd rather get felt up by a hobo than
pee on my shoes. As I'm edging forward oh so slightly, I notice
something amiss. My purse. Is behind me. On the ground. Touching my
bum. And getting peed on. My highly absorbent cotton/denim purse.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Show me a perfect parent. Well? Exactly. I definitely am NOT one. I
have made so many mistakes, and I know I will continue to make them.
But I feel this one is a doozy.

The
past week or so has made me realise something horrible. Horrible and
true. I gave up on my son. I gave up on him a very long time ago. I
never realised this until about a week ago. Don't get me wrong. I love
him with all my heart and soul. I would die for him. But along with his
grade one teacher, I too have "failed" him. I am quick to hush him.
When he starts jabbering on with some story then continues on and on
and on, and ends up WAY off topic. It's annoying, so I shush him. Or
give him a quick "Yeah yeah, mm hmm. Ok." And he's so LOUD. The more he
talks, the louder he gets. The louder he gets, it's like he distracts
himself, and the further off topic he gets.

What I am about to
post, is very emotional for me. I feel so very very guilty. A guilt I
have never felt before, and I hope I can forgive myself soon. I hope
Braden will not hold it against me, and that everything will be okay. I
feel I have severely effed up.

So Braden's grade 2 teacher is
amazing. She got to know each and everyone of the students before
hitting the curriculum. She knows my son. She knows how he works.
Shouldn't it have been ME?

About the second week of school, Mrs.
M came to me after school and said that Braden was calling out a lot
previously, but he was doing very well with trying, and she cold see
that. She very gently and kindly told me that one of her personal
friends of many years was a speech therapist. She wondered if by any
chance his loud voice and calling out had anything to do with some sort
of speech problem. I didn't think much of it. She already had earned
Braden and my trust. I told her to go ahead and set up an in school
appointment. I really didn't think anything of it. They (Braden and the
speech therapist *Mrs. D*) had an informal meeting, where she said she
thought she could work with him. Monday, Braden met with her again for
a formal evaluation.

Turns out my son has a language barrier.
She described it to me as his brain being like a messy room. He has all
these thoughts and ideas, but they can't come out "the right way". If
someone reads a story to him and asks him to relay the story back,
he'll start at the middle, go to the end, talk about fish and koala
bears then finish with the beginning of the story. *DUH* I thought this
was Braden not focusing. I thought this was my kid not paying attention
because maybe he had better things to do. I thought he was trying to
make me go grey. I am a stubborn selfish woman. If I had just put my
anger aside last January when I received that letter, and taken my son
in for "testing" WOULD the doctors have tested for a language barrier? Could I have made the last 9 months a lot easier on my poor baby?

Braden is dealing with a vicious cycle, and this ALL MAKES SENSE now. And this is why I am very angry at myself.When
he has something to say, he gets off topic quite easily. MANY times I
have to tell him to take a deep breath and focus on what he needs to
say. If not, he'll end up jumping all over the place (kind of what I am
doing with this post apparently) and getting louder and louder.
Sometimes in the middle of a sentence he'll just stop and say he
forgot. Sometimes I am relieved by this. *hanging head in shame*

I was told that what he is struggling with, is when he is talking, he gets louder because he knows, he knows
that people will start losing interest in him. Which causes his brain
to think panic mode and blurts out part of what he's saying. IS this
making sense? Am I making sense?

I remember when he was about 3
or 4, he could NOT say the word "yellow". he said "lellow" Cute, right?
I thought so. Sometimes I would get him to try to say it correctly.
When he got the "ye" sound out, he would stammer. It would end up
sounding like "ye-ye-Yell-YELL-YELLOW!!!". He would end up SHOUTING it.
I thought it odd, but funny. And it was the only word he ever did it
with. Was that a sign I should have picked up on? No. Of course not.
But I AM kicking my ass. I had a snotty thought that at the end of
grade two when he was doing so well, I would go and have a little chat
with the principle, and maybe the gr 1 teacher. (I hold grudges, what
can I say) But wait. *I* didn't take him in for testing. I know they
wanted him tested for ADD/ADHD, but what if. I know the what ifs are
horrible, and the best of the best parents can waste away dwelling on
what ifs. So I'm going to try not to. I'm going to try to pull my
bitter ass into gear and get done for my son what needs to be done.

Along
with feeling horribly guilty, I am also relieved. In a strange way, I
am also excited. I will get to witness my son transitioning. Being able
to get out ideas without me impatiently waiting for him to "get to the
point already" or telling him to shush up. This obviously will not be
an overnight thing. The school will be involved, as well as myself. I
*DO* hope that it will strongly improve his self confidence. I need to
learn how to help with that. I cannot imagine what I have done to help
him feel inadequate. A little boy wanting to tell his mommy something.
All he wants is to converse with me, and I tell him to shush because
it's getting annoying that he's YELLING IN MY FACE and he's has zero
topic to chat about.

Mrs. M. said that Braden has already
progressed significantly with his school work. I beamed. Tears came to
my eyes. I am SO SO SO very proud of my boy. Last night I vowed to
myself that I will not give up on my son. Even though I fought tooth
and nail last year to "protect" my baby, I really had, in a way, given
up on him too. This is making me cry... it's too easy to get home from
work/school/daycare, get a snack for the kids, send them off to play
and "unwind" in front of the computer, and tell them I need quiet time.
I say I need to work M-F 9am to 3pm so I can be at home with the kids.
To do what? "SHUSH THEM??" Sigh.

Braden and Mackenzie. I love
you more than you will EVER know. EVER. There will be times that you
hate me, love me, think I'm the best, think I'm the worst. I promise
whatever I do it's because I am trying to it for your well being. I may
have to tell you to be quiet sometimes, but I will do my damnedest to
never shush you again. The saying "kids should be seen, not heard" is a
bunch of crap, and I am so so sorry.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

So after our little chat about using the term "potty",
I realized that this teacher had her priorities in a big ole funk. From
this point on, I referred to her as trying to make my child into a
little robot. One that would conform and do exactly as SHE pleased.

Before
I continue, I must say that Braden is not a perfect little angel. He
can be a handful at times. Sometimes he gets an idea in his head, and
whatever the consequences might be, he has to do it. Hence the teacher
describing him as impulsive. Example - "Braden, do not knock over
little Jimmy's Lego tower." "What? THIS one?" BAM. "Oops. I'm sorry" Or
"Braden, Don't run in the.. DON'T run in the.. BRADEN!! STOP RUNNING IN
THE BLOODY HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!"

Also, as I believed I may have
mentioned before, I don't think Mrs. U. is a bad teacher. I think and
thought at the time, that she was a bad teacher for my son. She had
just come back after one year mat leave, thrown into a K/1 split that
she made very clear she didn't want, and had her own personal issues. I
wasn't always a bitch to her. I did (really!) try to empathise with her
situation, but a lot of her behaviour was still unacceptable.

About
a week after the "potty" incident, I told her very nicely that I didn't
really feel comfortable with hearing about other students for 2
reasons. One, That my concerns were for Braden, and unless the
complaints regarding the other student directly involved my son, I
didn't want to hear it. Two, I told her that I was concerned that she
was discussing my son with other parents. She surprised the shit out of
me. She looked taken aback at first, then apologized profusely. She
agreed that it was very unprofessional, and that she didn't even
realise she was doing it. She said she wouldn't anymore, and thanked
me. Sincerely. As far as I know, she kept her word.

Atfer
that, she began relaying positives back to me. "Braden is so helpful
and caring." "Braden is excelling in math." "Braden is the sweetest and
most adorable little boy ever". Okay, so she didn't say the last part.
But we all know she wanted to, right? ;) Things calmed down for a
while, and I heard nothing until January.

January. January was a
BAD month to piss off mama bear. I just went from single mom to 2 kids
to single mom of 5. That's when my nephews came to live with me. About
2 weeks after Christmas holidays were over, Braden brings home a letter
in his backpack. This letter said they would like to have Braden tested
for any possible learning disabilities that may be detrimental to his
schooling. They. "They" were the teacher, principle and 2 "high upper"
school people. What I found out, was it is illegal for a school or
teacher to request for ADD/ADHD testing. (In Canada anyways)But that is
EXACTLY what they wanted him tested for. I stewed for a while. I
wondered if I was blinded and if my son really did have a major issue
that I have been denying, or just couldn't see. My "instincts" told me
that no, Braden does not have a learning disability. I bounced it off
of almost everyone who knew Braden and I. I asked the same thing to
everyone. "Am I missing something? Am I in denial? Am *I* failing my
son? Do you really think he could have ADD/ADHD?" Every single person I
spoke with said an emphatic "No." I even spoke with his angel of a
kindergarten teacher. One of my family members is a teacher. All said
"No way."

Then I found this out.

There were 9 grade one
kids. 5 boys, 4 girls. 4 boys and one of the girls received this
letter. What the hell are the chances that FIVE children from the same
school, let alone the same CLASSROOM could have ADD/ADHD or ANY type of
learning disability? You can't imagine how livid I was. So I
wrote my own letter. It was firm, polite, (I didn't swear in it once!!)
and to the point. I wasn't getting my son tested, as there has been
ZERO feedback on my son's education. Not once was I told he was behind
in anything. If there had been an issue regarding his schooling, I told
them I was sure they would come to me. Right? Since all the complaints
were that Braden wasn't "up to par" with behaviour, but he wasn't "bad"
either. (Their words!)

Things died down for a while. One day,
at the end of May, when I was waiting to pick up my nephew from the
other kindergarten class, Mrs. U. told me very shocking news.

Her
exact words were, "I don't know how or why I missed it. But we did our
reading assessment with the kids today. I don't know what happened, and
why I didn't catch it before. But Braden's reading level is very far
behind." I felt my heart drop for my son. I remained very calm and said
"How far behind?" She replied, "At this time of year I like to see the
kids at a level 14-16. Braden is at a level 5-6." I wanted to punch
her. She has been "teaching" my kid for the past 9 months and he is ONE
READING LEVEL HIGHER THAN HE WAS IN KINDERGARTEN?!?! I gritted my teeth
as she continued. "He is a bright kid. I've always seen it, but he
never wanted to apply himself fully. I honestly don't know how he
slipped under the radar. I Do want you to know that Braden has taught
me a lot about teaching this year." I wanted to throw her to the
ground, punch in her face and rip her hair out. Well, LA TI FLIPPING DA
My son taught HER. I'm pretty sure from this post and the previous post
you can generate a pretty good idea yourself as to why she "failed to
catch her mistake."

Stay tuned for the finale of "Braden &
his grade one experience." It's gonna be a good one and make you shake
your head. It'll contain where Braden is now!!

*** To add to
yesterday's post - after Kenzie woke up, she was DRY! I ran her to the
bathroom, and she peed an ocean! Then she pooped at daycare AND at home
ON THE POTTY!! We are well on our way. YAY!! I'll back off on the potty
updates now. For a while, anyways. I MIGHT wait till she's in
underwear. Maybe. Okay reader? Hi SHANNON!! (*if* there's anyone else..
say hi so I know who's out there!:))

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The very day I posted regarding Kenzie & potty training,
Mackenzie took a giant crap. In her diaper. And didn't pee on the potty
once. That was Saturday. Same with Sunday. Sunday night she told me she
had to poop, so I ran her to the bathroom and...she sat there. and sat
some more. Nothing. Turns out the little bugger just wanted stickers. I
had to explain that something had to come out for a sticker. I thought
I would have a fight on my hands, but surprisingly she seemed okay with
that. Whew! Crisis averted!

Yesterday at daycare I was informed
that she didn't poop at all. She did pee though. In her diaper. ARG!!
This little girl likes to keep me on my toes however. She went from
2:00pm to 8pm dry! She told me twice that she had to pee, and she made
it to the toilet both times! By 8:00pm her diaper was still dry! WOO
HOO!! I'm guessing it's going to be a "2 steps forward, one step back"
type of potty training, but you know what? I'm actually okay with it.
Keep up the good work Miss Princess Kenzia!! You're doing just fine.
And don't mind Mommy when you see her neck twitching, okay?

Monday, October 6, 2008

I promised to post about Braden's grade one experience. I have briefly touched base in previous posts, but will now elaborate.

The
3rd day of grade one, (which was technically 2.5 days, as the first day
was a half day) His teacher asked me if his birthday was late in the
year. I said no, he just turned 6 at the end of July. Why? She replied
"Well, he just seems so...young". Um. He's SIX.

Before I
continue, I must note that she has just come back after a year of
maternity leave (thank you Canada!!), and is used to teaching only
kindergarten. Not a kindergarten/grade one split. There were 9 grade
ones and 12 kindergartners

The 4th day of school Mrs. U. said
she did not want Braden and this other boy in the same class. Now, it
wasn't just these tow things that were said that made my red flags go
up. It was a feeling. That mother instinct feeling.

After Mrs.
U. told me she didn't want these students in the class together, I said
"FINE! I'll see what I can do." I didn't want him in the split class
anyways, and *knew* this was going to be a challenging year. Boy, is
that an understatement!

So I marched my butt down to see the
principle, told him I wanted my son switched to the other grade one
class, where he tells me, "As a rule, I make no classroom switches
during the first week of school. See how next week goes, and if you
feel the same way, we will rectify this." Okay. Fine. Fair enough. I
let it go the entire next week. Monday to Friday I hear moaning,
whining, and complaining from the teacher. Not about my son. But about other students!
How unprofessional! I certainly don't want my son discussed with other
parents, and I'm sure other parents feel the same way! So the Monday
after the second week of school, I go in to speak with the principle to
have Braden switched. He said No. HUH? Excuse me?? WHY NOT. He tells me
"As a rule, I NEVER make changes to the classroom list after the second
week." I was SO mad I couldn't say. a. word. I repeated what he told me
and he squirmed. I told him I TRIED talking with him on Friday after
school but he wasn't there. I want a change NOW. I honestly don't
remember what he said to convince me. I do recall telling him if the
teacher continued to be this unprofessional, I WOULD have something
done.

Now, keep in mind, I am very outspoken...with friends,
family and people that I know I won't see again or very often. I do get
intimidated though quite easily. I have never been a mother to a grade
one kid before. I had NO CLUE as to how much input I had over the
teachers/school.

In October, the teacher called a meeting.
Her, the teacher who taught on Friday's, the principle and Braden's
Wednesday teacher...from kindergarten, plus the other grade one teacher. The reasons for this meeting?

1
- Braden's behaviour. He stuck his middle finger out at another student
at lunch time. Who, incidentally, ADMITTED it was him who taught my kid
that, and that Braden didn't know what it meant. Until AFTER the
teacher told him what it meant! There was no meeting for this boy.

2
- Braden went pee to much. He left the classroom multiple times a day
to go to the washroom. "Does he ask, or just leave?" I questioned. "He
asks", says the teach. I asked her "what do you tell him?" She
responded "I say 'If ya gotta go, ya gotta go!" I told her the bathroom
trips were her issue, not mine. All I could tell him was not to go if
he didn't have to, but if the teacher was going to let him, How is that
MY issue?

3 - Braden turned the bathroom light off on another
student who was using the washroom. (It's a single toilet bathroom with
the switch on the outside) She said that when he did it, he laughed and
"told on himself" saying "Ha ha ha!! I just turned off the light on so
and so!" The teacher was mortified and disgusted. She said she couldn't
understand why he would do something like that and find it funny. I
laughed. The laughter didn't go over well. They kept trying to tell me
how dangerous it was and yada yada yada. I interrupted and said "Maybe
Braden "told on himself because what he did was FUNNY. Not BAD. Maybe
inappropriate, but not bad." Mrs. U. said, "well I just don't know
where he would get that from!" So I laughed more, and said "Maybe from
me! *I* do that to him sometimes. He turned the light on right away,
right?" She nodded. They ALL squirmed in their chairs.

Mrs. D
(his Wednesday kindergarten teacher) was asked how his behaviour was
the last year. (the principle was new last year. That's why he didn't
know him. *side note. Braden was NEVER sent to the office) All she
could say was "He was always running in and out of the classroom. In
one door and out the other. Know what I told her? The truth. I said
"First of all, what you have to say here I would like to be ignored.
This is a new year, a fresh start and you only taught him once a week.
Not ONE SINGLE TIME was there EVER ANY complaint about my son last
year. Not. ONE. As for him running in and out of the class? I can
assure you, as I witnessed myself, the only time that
happened was Wednesdays. Not to mention, Braden wasn't the only one,
was he?" She looked down and admitted (although stuttering and
stammering) that yes, there were quite a few other kids who did it too.

Sometime in November I really realized that Mrs. U. was not
teaching children. She was trying to conform them. I don't think she
did it on purpose, but here's why I now refer to her as wanting to
robotize my child. She came to me after school one day and said
that Braden said "potty" a lot. I thought she meant he was being a shit
head and just kept saying "potty" over and over again to be annoying.
WRONG.She continued with, "I think at this age kids should be
saying "washroom" or "bathroom" instead of "potty". It just sounds
better. Maybe you could work on this at home with him?"
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I looked at her with my eyebrows raised and said
"*I* say 'potty'. My 1.5 year old say "potty". I don't care what he
says as long as it isn't 'Yo teach! I gotta go piss and take a crap!'"

I
ALMOST had her laughing. Probably from shock though. She changed her
tune a bit. She said "well, I just don't want him to get teased if he's
the only one saying it." I replied, "If Braden starts getting teased
because of what he's saying, I'm pretty sure he'll change it on his
own. Also, I would expect that as a teacher, you would discourage
teasing?" She looked dumbfounded and nodded her head. I was PISSED.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

The other day I posted about Mackenzie's potty regression. I would like to announce that everyday since Thursday she has pooped on the potty! WOOHOO!! Bribing
Rewarding her with Tinker Bell stickers has worked some magic. It took
a day or two, but has worked so far nonetheless. She still won't pee on
the potty though. Again, I'm not going to push her. She had already
shown me she was 100% capable of poopin' on the pot, so I'm continuing
with the desperate pleas encouragement.

We did have
a teeny tiny minor meltdown here though on Thursday evening. It seems
the funds had run a tad low, as well as the pull-up supply. So I had to
face some humility and head to the coughfoodbankcough to get some
supplies. They had no pull-ups. Uh Oh. They did have size 6 diapers
though, which was awesome. Awesome for me. Not so much for Mackenzie.
At home she runs around naked noody (thank you for hardwood floors!!)
but come bedtime I had a VERY offended little girl.

"I need a pull-up on now mommy"

Um...

"Okay sweety. But I don't have any right now."

Blank stare...

"I DO have some diapers though."

The
look on her face made Braden leave the room. I could just see Braden
thinking, Mom, you messed up BAD. The look on her face also made me
talk really sweet. And very fast.

"Oh-hunny-the-store-was-out-of-pull-ups-because-someone-else-must-have-needed-them-before-we-did." *Switch to fake happy and overly excited voice*
"But we're just going to use these until mommy can get to the store and
buy you some real pull-ups. Ok? Sweety-pie-princess-Kenzia??"

I held my breath. I seriously held my breath. I had no idea how this child was going to react...

"Okay mommy!"

and..... exhale! Whew!

**Note
to self - What's one bounced cheque when it comes to the option of
pull-ups or donated diapers? Oh. Right. SANITY. I'm sure the landlords
will understand. They have kids... Rent schment. Definitely going for
the pull ups.

Friday, October 3, 2008

My father is a very paranoid man.
He's a prison guard for the federal government, and has been for the
past 27 years. He's worked in maximum, medium and minimum institutions.
He has seen the scum of the earth. He's had shit flung at him, has had
to intervene countless times from stopping one inmate from killing
another, had his life threatened one or 1200 times. At one point in his
career he was attacked by a full blown AIDS victim who was bleeding,
and who was trying
to infect him as well. Luckily he wasn't infected, and that this was an
isolated incident. Raising 2 daughters and working in that environment
was not easy I'm sure. I can fully appreciate and respect his paranoia.
I'll add here that I got all my stubbornness from my mother...because
dad still has his.

The extent of his paranoia is driving me
CRAZY. About 70-80% of any phone conversation I have with him, the
phone beeps. It's actually him unintentionally pushing a button on the
keypad. I can relay the conversation that follows. Every. Single.
Bloody. Time.

*Beeep*

Dad - "What was that?"

Me - "That was you dad. You bumped the..."

Dad - "No. It was not me. I know where my fingers are. It was you." (If he *knows* it was me, then WHY did he ask me what it was?)

Me - "No dad. It was you. This only happens when I'm talking to you."

Dad - "This only happens when I'm talking to YOU. You need a new phone."

Dad - "What was that? Did you here that? I think I can hear people talking..."

Me - "Sigh.. Dad? Turn your TV down."

Dad - "Oh."

Dad - "Wait! Can you hear that?"

Me - "Hear what? You having a major brain fart?"

Dad - "I didn't raise you to be such an asshole ya know. I'm serious. What's that noise?"

Me - *straining to hear the little voices that may or may not be speaking to my semi delusional father* "No dad. I hear nothing."

Dad
- "You know, I heard that So and So was released from prison not to
long ago. I'm pretty sure I'm on his hit list with a few others... I
wonder if that c*cksucker (dad's oh so very favourite choice of
nicknames)has tapped my phone. Jebuz H Christy. I'll empty a few rounds
into that effer if he comes here, I'll tell you that!"

Dad - "Nope.
With today's technology it would be SO easy to tap into someones phone
line. I wouldn't be surprised if we're being listened to right now.
That beeep was probably the tapper thing being turned on."

*beeeep*

Dad - "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!"

Me
- "Dad! Move your hand you old fart. If it's not your hand then it's
your chin or something. You know what? I'm gonna let you go. I have to,
um, go do something. Ok?"

Dad - "Fine. But when I wake up dead cuz some c*cksucker knows I'm home because of this phone call, I'm gonna haunt you! Goodbye!"

Thursday, October 2, 2008

I'm addicted to blogs. More so to reading what other people blog about than actual blogging myself. I read A Womb at the Inn(sane)
everyday. This woman is my age. As in, she too will be 30 in November.
And she has 7 kids. Yes. 7. And she likes them. She is fricken
hilarious. I don't even remember how I found her site. All I know is I
need my daily dose of innsaneness. (seriously. go read her. If you're
crazy like me start with the archives and work your way up.) Either
yesterday or the day before she had posted a contest where you click on
the link, and be the 214th person to comment and you win a prize. A
necklace. I clicked on the link, and found out I had to sign up to view
this prize and post to comment on. I figured what the heck. So I did.
Then I'm informed by the site I had to be accepted first. Hmm. There
goes any chance of winning a necklace. (Not like I WEAR necklaces. I
just wanted to have a shot at winning SOMETHING!!)

Either later
that night or the next morning, I checked my email. I had been
accepted. YAY! I go to the site to check it out. Uh.Oh. Clearly I am in
the WRONG area. Clearly they have not checked out MY site (this blog
you are staring at with glassy eyes) because if they had, they would
not have accepted me. Nor would 2 of them have added me as "friends".
Why? Be patient. I'm getting there. This site is called... (don't laugh
and if you are taking a drink, put it down before you snort beverage
out of your sinuses) ... "The Posh Parent" and the subtitle is "The chic parent guide to everyday fabulousness".

Posh.Brit.
Elegant, high-class, as in a posh hotel. Its origins lie in the
abbreviation for "port out, starboard home," indicating the best berths
on sailings from England to India

Definition: luxurious, upper-class

ME??
POSH?? BWAHAHAHAH cough cough cough. ahem. Now before you start rolling
your eyes, It's really not as "fru-fru" as one may think. I haven't had
very much time to go through it to see what's going on over there, but
look forward to it. There's blogs, "societies", forums, chat, etc.

Along
with the acceptance to me joining this poshness, I also has two friend
requests. One of them is the site administrator. (has to be, but since
I'm new to all of this, who knows!) the other is Kadi (the blog owner
of a womb at the innsane). Now I know there is some kind of joke going
on. You see, a few days ago, Kadi had an "embrace your inner dorkness"
contest. She invited all to send in stories of dorkness, photos and or
videos to prove dorkyness. The winner got a prize. so I submitted these
photos to prove my dork worthiness:

I
didn't win. I didn't even get a vote. I should be happy, but not even
one lousy vote. I guess I'm so over the top, that Kadi actually left
out the photo with me wearing the glasses/nose getup. I can't believe I
even sent these pics to a stranger!

These pics are proof that
I am the brunt of someones joke. Yes! Come join The Posh Parent! I
remember your face *snicker snicker* OR, Or maybe I'll be their little
project. Maybe the person who can convert this:

into THIS:

will win a lollipop.

Anyhoo.
I must toodle off for my pedicure and noon hour martini. Jeeves will be
around with the car in a flash, I mustn't keep him waiting. Pop pop
cheerio now!!

Wow. They are quick. And GOOD!

(*I'm actually looking forward to checking out this site and talking with other "posh parent's" so shuddap!!*)

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

When Mackenzie was 17 months old, we were watching "John and Kate plus 8".
The sextuplets were 2 in the episode we were watching. They were also
potty training. Mackenzie watched with awe, as I was telling her what
these little people her size were doing.Then I remembered that I still
had Braden's little plastic potty. I ran to the bathroom, blew the dust
of the potty, and brought it in the living room.I asked Mackenzie if
she wanted to try. She beamed, and said YUP!! So off went the pants.
Off went the diaper. She sat down, and peed! I could not believe it. I
was in shock. I had a 17 month old ready for potty training! Or so I
thought. She didn't pee on that thing for another 4 months. I never
pressured her. I only ever asked if she wanted to sit on it. 9 times
out of 10 she wanted to sit. Nothing happened. Until she stood up, and
promptly pissed on the floor.

You know how "they" say that
peeing is the first step, and pooping is usually harder for them? Well,
not in Mackenzie's case. She has mastered pooping on the potty. She'll
be 3 in a month and a half, and has been pooping on the pot for the
last 8 months. If she pees on the potty, it's only cuz she's still
sitting down from the big #2.

The last month to month and a
half, she has regressed. She poops in her pull-up. I can't figure out
why. Her routine has been the same, she isn't constipated nor does she
have diarrhea. I don't know if it's her stubborn will, or if she's just
too damn busy playing to go to the bathroom.

I told her last
night if she poops on the potty at daycare, she can have a sticker when
she gets home. Because it's all about stickers you know. Stickers are
more fun than playdough, have a healing power 10 times better/stronger
than any band aid brand, and they just make the world go around. Ah,
yes. Mackenzie and her sticker love affair. Why I did not think of this
sooner, I will never know. (Shut up. I don't WANT to think about why
I didn't think about it. Fine fine. It was a mommy brain fart. Happy
now?) So we shall see today after daycare if she made it to the potty.
Regardless if she made it or not, I'm going to come up with some kind
of sticker potty chart for here and daycare. One sticker for poops on
the potty, 2 stickers for pee.

Now go through this post and
count how many times you see "potty" and "poop". If you count
accurately, I'll give you a jelly bean. I should probably warn you that
it's been in my pocket for 4 days, and has a nice collection of fuzz
and lint. But it still smells good. Wait. Oh crap. I peeled the fuzz
and lint off to see what colour it was, and I ate it. Sorry. No jelly
bean. How about you just give yourself a nice pat on the back, OK?

About Me

Still trying to figure out what makes me "me". How is that defined? No clue. I'm 32 and have a wicked imagination.
I've recently made the transition from single parent to being a "partner in Crime" when Aaron (my boyfriend) and I moved in together October '09. After being a single parent for 8 years, (Braden 10, Mackenzie 5) there have been some challenges "sharing" parental responsibility, but all in all it's been much easier than this stubborn control freak anticipated. Phew!
I'm not a "strong" writer, but am quick with witty comebacks and LOVE to make people laugh. To sum it all up? I'm just awesome. Well, that's what my son tells me, anyways! :)